


Good Game

by popfly



Category: Schitt's Creek (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29402784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly
Summary: Dan and Noah plan a cast and crew softball game, and get a little competitive.
Relationships: Dan Levy/Noah Reid
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41
Collections: RPFebruary Prompt Fest





	Good Game

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [rpfebpromptfest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/rpfebpromptfest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> _The cast & crew like to play volleyball (or softball) together. Do with that what you will. Maybe it's a tournament with a championship game. Maybe there are some heated rivalries. Maybe someone needs taught how to play. Maybe someone gets hurt. Maybe romance blooms. Choose your participants and rating._
> 
> HAPPY RPFEBRUARY!!! Thanks to Gray and TINN for encouragement & edits, as always.

“You know, this would be fun for real.”

Dan squints against the sunlight and the sight of Noah in his softball uniform. Noah glances over and must be able to read the confusion on Dan’s face, because he grins. He has sunflower seed shell bits stuck in his teeth. Somehow it doesn’t make him any less hot.

“We should play a game,” Noah says, and then spits some shell into the grass. It still doesn’t diminish his hotness. Dan’s not sure what could at this point.

“We are playing a game,” Dan says, waving his mitt down the front of his body, the ridiculous belt and the too-tight pants, the cleats that are pinching his toes.

“No, but for real. A cast and crew game. Like my game, but for us.”

Noah’s game, one of the worst and best days of his entire friendship—relationship, whatever-ship—with Noah. The memory of that day is burned, nay, _seared_ , into Dan’s brain for all of eternity. The way Noah’s hair had looked when he swept his cap off his head to adjust the brim, sweaty at the temples from the heat of the day and the exertion of the game, glinting copper in the sun. It gets curlier when it’s damp, knowledge that Dan hates having. 

Reliving that day would be torture, even within the comforting confines of their show group, but it might also be worth it. Noah playing baseball, for real and not just for filming, is a treat that might outweigh the downsides.

“That could be fun, I guess,” Dan finally acquiesces and turns his attention back to Eric and Jordan, who appear to be prepping to roll again. 

They wrap after they lose the light, and Dan feels good about the footage they’ve shot even if he is sore already from all the fake tripping and falling. He tries not to think about the edit that’s sure to come of all of his dramatic flopping onto the mat, distracting himself by replaying the celebratory hugs and cheek kisses instead. 

Noah is waiting for him after he’s changed back into his street clothes, a cap jammed on over his hair, the brim flat and tilted up the way he likes to wear it. On anyone else it would look too douchey to be cute, but again. It’s Noah. Dan is helpless.

“Share a car?” Noah asks, like he frequently does at the end of location shooting days. Dan agrees, like he frequently does when Noah asks. It saves the production money, since they’re headed to the same vicinity downtown anyway. 

They’re barely out of the park’s lot before Noah leans forward over the console, straining his seat belt to get as far into Dan’s space in the front seat as he can. Dan glances at the driver, but she’s focused on navigating the country roads. “So seriously, let’s plan a game,” Noah says.

Dan sighs, but with the smell of Noah’s deodorant and sun-warmed skin invading his senses, he can’t say no. Not that he would’ve anyway. “Fine, but you’re organizing everything.”

“Everything?” Noah asks, teasingly. Skeptically. Knowingly. Dan turns his head to look out of the window, a weak version of a cold shoulder. Noah laughs, but he sits back, giving Dan his space again.

Of course Dan doesn’t let Noah plan _everything_ , because even if Noah is the one with the bulk of the baseball knowledge, Dan still wants to make sure that the entire event is fun for the cast and crew. They spend several of their on-set lunchtimes working out the details, with input from whoever happens to be nearby. Picking teams becomes a debate almost as heated as the great trash pizza fight of two; the only thing Dan and Noah can agree on is that they’ll each captain a team. That leads to a question about team names and uniforms, which leads to another heated debate, and eventually ends in a decision to keep it secret from each other until a reveal on gameday.

Dan has most of the costume department in his corner; Noah doesn’t stand a chance.

The first betrayal comes from someone Dan had never expected. “I’m sorry, what?” He asks, shock pitching his voice high.

His dad’s eyebrows furrow impressively behind the frames of his glasses, Dan had gifted him from a pile of prototypes. “I’m sorry, son, Noah asked me two days ago. I assumed you’d already discussed it and agreed.”

“No we did not agree!” Dan says. He glares down the hallway between two sets, Noah walking towards them in his snug Patrick jeans and a button-down in a shade of blue that Dan had specifically chosen for him. It looks just as good as Dan had pictured, dammit. Noah is also wearing a smug smirk that makes Dan’s body tingle all over in a confusing mixture of irritation and desire.

“Hey guys,” Noah says, all studied nonchalance and subdued swagger.

“You poached my father!”

Noah shrugs. “He’s a good player. If you wanted him on your team you should have asked him.”

The affronted gasp Dan makes at that is all he can think of to say. His dad looks vaguely apologetic but does not offer to ditch Noah’s team for Dan’s. Dan narrows his eyes at Noah and adds a pointed finger aimed at his chest. “You’re a sneak, Reid,” he says, and then spins on his heel to march off towards the monitors.

“All’s fair in love and baseball, Daniel!” Noah calls after him, and Dan flushes at that. It’s on.

At least his sister is on his side, agreeing readily to join the team that Debra and Darci have started calling the Seam Rippers. She promises to get Annie, even though Dan’s sure Noah’s asked Annie already, because Annie doesn’t seem super athletic but she can run like the wind when she wants to.

The rivalry between Dan and Noah ramps up to the point where nobody will sit with them at lunch, and Dan alternates between terrible, baseless trash talk and the silent treatment while Noah manages to convey total superiority even when shoveling salad into his face. He’s recruited a couple of the camera operators, one of whom Dan is pretty sure played baseball in college, and their lighting tech, who definitely plays in a league during the summer. 

During one particularly tense between-scenes meal, Emily walks past their table and sighs. “I thought this was supposed to be fun?”

Dan whips his head up to stare at her, and catches Noah doing the same out of the corner of his eye. 

“It is fun,” Noah says, and Dan nods. The competition may be heated already, but Dan would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it. Noah is normally so laid back, so chill; everyone thinks it takes a lot to ruffle him. Dan likes seeing him ruffled, likes the give-and-take of their manufactured rivalry. They exchange glances after Emily shakes her head and wanders off, and the look in Noah’s eyes is just challenging enough that Dan shifts in his seat.

It might be more than just fun.

They pick a weekend after filming ends, while everyone is sticking around to see if they’re needed for post-production, before everyone disperses for the rest of the summer. It’s something to look forward to after wrap, because the days between constantly being in Noah’s orbit and being chained to the editing room are some of Dan’s least favorite in the whole year. It’ll be especially sweet this year, when the last few weeks have been so deliciously tense, to have that little bit of extra time. The game will be fun, they’ve put too much thought and effort and snarky energy into it to be anything but, but Dan is looking forward to the cookout afterward. The release of that tension.

The day of the game is bright and hot, just a few wispy clouds floating across the almost-too-blue sky. Dan’s team congregates at his condo to pre-game and get ready. Debra arrives early with an armload of hangers and Dan delights over every detail of their uniforms: the screen-printed “Seam Rippers” in golden yellow letters over the black pinstripes, their names and chosen numbers in a black blocky font on the back. She got them all knee-high socks to wear in the same golden yellow, and caps with an illustration of a seam ripper tearing the laces out of a baseball embroidered onto the front.

“You’re magic,” Dan says, turning one of the hats over in his hands, admiring the work. Debra shrugs, modest as ever, even when the rest of the team arrives and exclaims over the hats and the shirts and everything else. They look silly but amazing, when they’re mostly dressed save their cleats. Dan’s sure this is one portion of the game they’re gonna win in a landslide.

They do win on the uniform front, but it’s closer than he could have ever imagined. When they all tumble out of their cars at the field, they’re greeted by a swarm of navy blue. Noah’s team have dubbed themselves the “Key Grips.” Their pants are a crisp white, hats tan to match their logo, a baseball diamond that looks like it’s made of dolly tracks. Noah’s hat brim is still flat, pushed up his forehead, his hair still too short to stick out the front much.

“Cute name,” he says, tongue firmly in cheek as he takes in Dan’s uniform. Dan can see the appreciation in his eyes as he looks over the logo on Dan’s hat. 

“Yours too. Though I don’t really get the connection to the game.”

One side of Noah’s mouth curls up slowly, and Dan can feel every millimeter of the motion in a tingle up his spine. Noah holds his hands out in front of him, curled around an imaginary something, twisting back and forth in a way that makes the tingle feel more like a flame licking under Dan’s skin.

“Like the grip on a bat,” he says, and then drops his hands to his hips. His pants are really well fitted. Dan swallows.

“Got it,” he says, voice croaky, and the other side of Noah’s mouth lifts. Then their hired umpire calls out for the teams to get to their benches.

“Have a good game,” Noah says, walking backwards for a bit, still grinning.

“Good luck,” Dan retorts. “You’re going to need it.” 

Noah chuckles and then turns away to join his team. Dan sucks in a breath, doesn’t watch Noah’s ass in his snug baseball pants, and turns away to go to his own bench.

He gives a passably motivating pregame pep talk, and they put their hands in for a “1-2-3, Seam Rippers!” yell. Deep down, under the simmer of heat he can’t quite quell, under the strong desire to win, Dan realizes he’s already having fun. Even if they lose the game, he’ll have fun. Just being out in the warm sunshine with this group of people, after weeks of secret uniform design meetings and working out who would play which position, breaks in between filming to play catch with his sister and Annie, is honestly enough. Getting to glare over at Noah in his crisp navy shirt, with his scuffed bat and his bag of sunflower seeds, his cocky smile and his shoulders and his sparkling eyes makes it even better.

Getting a hit in his first at bat is even better than that. The ball Chris throws thunks solidly off the thickest part of the bat, and Dan runs, watching it sail out into shallow left. He crosses first just before his dad can catch the throw, and flashes a breathless smile to his teammates cheering behind the chain link. His dad claps him on the back with his mitt when Dan trots back to take his place on the base, leaning out slightly so he can get a good lead when Debra gets a hit. 

Which she does, and as Dan takes off towards second he feels light as the breeze ruffling his shirt.

It’s a fun game, the teams more evenly matched than anyone expected, trading the lead back and forth almost every inning. In the ninth, the Seam Rippers are down by two, with the weaker part of the batting order due up. The jeering from the Key Grips’ bench has gotten worse, and the light feeling from the first inning is gone, replaced with a bone-deep desire to win.

“We got this,” Dan says, and Emily’s wide eyes get a little less terrified. She’s up first, and pressure situations are not exactly when she thrives. But Dan has faith in her, and in Darci, who’s on deck, and especially in David, their lead off hitter. “Three runs is nothing, we can do it. Ready?” Emily nods, almost looking convinced, and Dan reaches out to plunk their borrowed batting helmet on her head. “Go get ‘em.”

Emily strikes out. Darci gets a hit, but it’s a weak one that Eric at shortstop scoops up easily to throw her out. David gets to second on a long fly, and then Dan’s up. Two outs, and his last strikeout weighing heavily on him as he scuffs his cleats in the dirt of the batter’s box.

He gets a hit. The reverberation of the impact zings through his arms as he runs hard towards first. David is rounding third and in the outfield, Peter bobbles the ball indecisively as his team yells where to throw for an out. Dan can tell the throw is bad as soon as it leaves Peter’s hand, and he puts his head down. The ball sails past his dad and Dan stomps decisively on first before heading for second.

He hits the base just in time, and spins around to see David throwing his hands in the air as he crosses home plate and runs to the bench, everyone cheering like mad. Dan pumps his fist and yells, jacked up on adrenaline. They could actually do this!

And then Rupinder hits a ball that arcs high up over the field before dropping straight into Noah’s glove, and the umpire’s harsh, “Out, and that’s game!” halts Dan’s hopeful dash towards third.

The Key Grips swarm Noah, clapping him on the back and the shoulder, but Dan ignores it and cuts across the diamond to his own waiting team. The disappointment is sharp but brief; they’d come so close, it definitely sucks to lose, and Dan’s not looking forward to the teasing sure to last for a while. But they’d had so much fun.

“Good game,” he says as he rounds the corner of the fence and starts grabbing teammates for sweaty, dusty hugs. 

Noah’s team is lining up on the field and Dan remembers this custom from Noah’s other game, a couple of the hockey games he’s gone to watch. A handshake line. The Seam Rippers file out to congratulate the Key Grips, Dan going last. There’s a lot of laughter, a little bit of trash talk, and a lot more hugs. When he gets to Noah he sticks his hand out and says, “Good game, congratulations.” Noah laughs and grabs him to drag him in for a hug.

The navy uniform shirt is damp under Dan’s hand, and Noah smells like fresh sweat and fresh air and a little bit like the sunflower seeds he’s been chewing on all throughout the game. His breath is warmer than the breeze on Dan’s neck as he squeezes Dan tight, the buckles of their belts clicking against each other. “Good game,” Noah murmurs, voice a low rumble that Dan can feel through his whole chest. When he lets Dan go he’s smiling, but it’s not the cocky smile of a winner, it’s just the sweet smile of Noah looking at Dan.

Dan melts a little.

“Let’s go fire up the grill, eh?” Noah asks, smile going crooked and eyes crinkling.

“God, yes please,” Dan says.

After they’ve loaded up plates, they find each other again, sitting knee-to-knee on the bleachers, watching their coworkers, their friends and family, eating and drinking and laughing, patches of dirt on their knees, faces still shining with sweat. Dan is full of love for all of them, for this crew and this day. He bumps his shoulder sideways into Noah’s.

“Thanks for this,” he says. “It really was fun.”

“Even though you lost?”

“Yes, Noah, even though I lost.” He turns his head just enough to catch the edge of Noah’s smile. 

“You played well,” Noah says then. Dan takes a bite of his hot dog and shrugs. “Think it might be time to admit that you’re good at baseball.” Dan shrugs again, and then goes completely still when Noah’s hand skims over his knee. “You look good in your uniform too.”

There’s no tease in his voice when he says it. It’s low, and smooth; a private sounding tone. Dan swallows his bite of hot dog with difficulty, throat suddenly thick. Is Noah … that compliment sounded like _something_. “You,” Dan starts, and then swipes for his can of soda, sips at it to help clear his throat. “You do too.” He dares turn his head fully then, and Noah is looking right back at him, eyes soft, mouth curving gently upwards.

“And hey,” Noah says, still in that low, private tone of voice. “Look at the brightside, you didn’t have to attempt a slide this time.”

“Mm,” Dan hums, glad for that for sure, but too distracted by Noah’s face to come up with something to say. He just watches Noah, Noah’s smile dimming as he studies Dan’s face, and then amping back up again. Noah reaches up to flick the brim of Dan’s hat. Dan’s not sure what he’s doing at first, thinks Noah is going for teasing again, but then Dan realizes.

He was knocking it out of the way.

The angle is still slightly off when Noah leans in to press his mouth tentatively to Dan’s, and Noah leans back almost immediately. He checks in with his eyes, and when Dan nods he grins, then reaches up to flip his own hat backwards before leaning back in.

This time it’s perfect, the easy fit of their lips meeting, the slight rasp of stubble as Noah presses further in. The smell of the grass and the grill smoke, the soft give of Noah’s mouth, the sharp breath he sucks in through his nose when Dan slips him a little bit of tongue. The sun is bright even with Dan’s eyes tightly closed, and he’s not sure if it’s that or the mind-emptying pleasure of being kissed by Noah Reid that makes spots dance in his vision when he finally reopens them.

Noah is grinning, and it’s the cocky grin of pre-game, of knowing that he has the upper hand. Dan huffs, but he can’t find it in him to be annoyed.


End file.
